


Verety Burke -- Death in the dumpster

by Calin



Series: Verety Burke [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Detectives, Female Detective - Freeform, Gen, Mentions of Cancer, Organized Crime, Original Fiction, Series, Teenage Drama, young adult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calin/pseuds/Calin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen / Young Adult</p><p>Back Cover:<br/>Verety Burke is at work in her father’s inn when a body is discovered in the dumpster.  When her best friend is accused of the murder, Verety decides she must find out who did it and clear her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> I have not worked on this book since 2005. It was originally started as a prospectus for an English paper, and it was put to the side. Now that I have graduated from college, I figured I would finish it. I hope you enjoy. Sorry in advance for all of the errors. I am editing it over again and will post that version soon. Here are the first 48 pages. 
> 
> Recently there have been few detective books published featuring small-town America. That is what is intended with this work of literature. The main setting for the book is 1990’s-early 2000’s but the characters do travel to other cities throughout the book. Through flashbacks, more is learned about the heritage of the characters and some of the historical background of the book. Also through flashbacks some Irish history of immigrant travel is given as well as life in Ireland during the famines. I wanted to explore my “roots” and in doing so put them in this book. I hope to turn this into a young teen fiction series.

Verety pulled her 1989 silver Toyota Corolla into an empty spot in the employee parking lot in the back of St. Josefs Hospital. It wasn’t a great car, but it got her from point A to point B. She had been working at the hospital for ten years now, ever since Drake had died. How long ago it seemed now. He had always thought of being a helicopter pilot, and going into the military was just when, not if. They had first met at Jennifer Kay’s graduation party. Jen was Verety’s best friend and unbeknownst to her, Drake was Jen’s cousin. The two had become instant friends, talking for hours about nothing and everything. Shortly after graduation, she had gone to the local college in town and received her Associate of Science. He had gone to army boot camp followed by 24 weeks of helicopter school at Fort Rucker in Alabama. They wrote each other constantly, and he phoned whenever he could. When he came home on leave, shortly after his training was complete, they were married. He was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky with the 101st Airborne. Then, in 1990, tensions grew tight in the Middle East and President Bush sent the boys to Iraq. Drake was itching to go. He constantly talked about how the air raids would be and that he couldn’t wait to be in the thick of it. In January of 1991, war was declared and Operation Desert Storm went into effect. Drake, the 101st Airborne and his beloved Apache helicopter went over to Iraq. Drake hadn’t even been there a week before Verety heard that two Apache’s had gone down during night maneuvers and all on board lost. She prayed with all of her heart that it wasn’t Drake. Two days later, somber-faced officers were standing at her door. She slammed the door in their faces. Drake was dead. Her beloved Drake had been stripped from her. She was now a widow with two sons to raise. She packed her children in the car along with their belongings and drove back to Ohio where her father lived in Lorain.   
Verety sighed, set the parking brake and slid her backpack from the passenger seat. She couldn’t believe it had been twelve years since she had lost her husband, but life goes on. She stood up and scanned the parking lot. There weren’t too many cars in the lot these days. Most of the patients went to the other hospital in town and St. Josefs was cutting the staff. She was lucky to still have this job. She scanned the lot for any other cars she might know. She spied a red Geo Metro parked next to the far fence and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Sammy Shapiro was here again, rats! He was the greasy-haired lawyer everyone hated. She especially disliked his crude remarks and cheap pickup lines. She ran her badge through the card scanner and yanked open the door.  
Verety was 5’9 in bare feet and had a little too much weight on her frame. Her auburn hair was shoulder-length and glistened like copper on sunny days. Hazel eyes changed color depending on what she wore and her mood. Today she was dressed in bright blue scrubs, which tied at the waist. Her white lab coat was slung over her left shoulder, her backpack strap over the other.   
Verety was only working from twelve to five today because it was Friday, and on the weekends she helped her father at his place of business, The Waterford Inn. It was a restaurant & Inn he had built in the 1970’s with her brother Miles help, several years after coming to America from Ireland. Verety’s mother had died before they had left their maiden country, of Typhus.   
Verety strode across the parking lot, her scrubs making a whishing sound as she walked. White nurses shoes were soundless across the tarred parking lot except where the ground had settled and loose rocks formed. She arrived at the back door, slid her access badge into the slot beside it pulled it open after the click. Stepping inside, she badged in and then walked to the lab looping her backpack over her right arm. Verety glanced at her watch and as she picked up the pace to a brisk walk, she realized she was going to be late. She careened around the next corner and ran full tilt into Sammy Shapiro whose slim frame toppled to the floor. Sammy jumped to his feet a big grin on his face and ran a hand through his slick backed hair.   
“Heya Vair-ity, you can knock me off my feet anytime. I’m head over heels for you.”  
Verety gritted her teeth. She hated the way he said her name. “Sorry Sammy,” she retorted, “I’m running late.”  
Sammy “Hawkeye” Shapiro was a small-time lawyer who always preferred to skirt around the edge of the law rather than to obey it totally. He was always scheming and getting into bad business deals. He stood 5’8 and weighed 125 pounds. His ebony black hair was slicked back mobster style, ending just below his collar. Shifty blue eyes were always in constant motion darting back and forth. Today he was dressed in a wrinkled suit jacket and worn khaki pants. A bright red tie was fastened to a gold colored shirt. Nike Air’s completed the gaudy ensemble.  
Sammy smirked and preened his hair. “Wanna go out with me Vair-ity? I'll make a woman of you.”  
Verety felt her cheeks start to burn. Brushing past him, she excused herself and hurried down the hall.  
“Call me anytime, babe,” Sammy shouted after her, “I’m in the book.”  
Verety rounded the next corner and opened the side door to the lab. The employee’s entrance took her into the blood drawing area without the patients seeing her. Walking to the back she tossed her backpack behind some chairs in the small employee break area. Pacing to the front office, she said hello to the front desk receptionist.  
“Hello there, how are you today, Martha?”  
“Great Verety, you’re going to be busy today. “  
Martha handed Verety a clipboard with at least twenty doctor’s orders attached to them. The lab was computerized, but the orders still came on slips of papers, which had to be manually typed in, by Martha and the other part-timers who worked the front desk. Walking to the waiting area, she called the first name on the list. The room was small, with a television on a stand mounted to the wall. Six chairs surrounded two small reading tables. Against the far wall was a magazine rack with six-month-old subscriptions.   
“Mr. Leonard, come with me please.”  
Skinny Leonard rose up out of the red cushioned chair and followed Verety towards the back room. The seventy-year-old African-American was a regular customer to the lab and Verety also knew him from the LATA route she drove on Saturdays. Lata stood for Local Area Transport Authority. The bus she drove specialized in taking the elderly to events planned for them. This week it was bowling.   
Skinny was 6’1 and weighed 150 pounds. His real name was Rufus, but he had been nicknamed by some childhood friends when he was a boy and the name had stuck. He was wearing his usual cammo pants with a dark green stained tee shirt.  
“Now Miz Verety, you jes call me Skinny.” He grinned and patted her arm.   
“Ok then, have a seat Skinny.”  
Skinny plopped down and stretched his lanky arm across the stiff platform attached to the blood-drawing chair. Verety took an alcohol pad and wiped down his arm after donning latex free gloves.  
“How’s Rosie doing Skinny?” Verety asked as she started drawing his blood.  
“Oh you know how it is Miz Verety. She has her good days and her bad uns. It’s not so bad now that Maribel is here from New York for a visit. Rosie and I shore do miss her terrible. She’ll be here a few weeks and I shore am glad for the help.”   
Rosie, Skinny’s wife of thirty plus years had colon cancer. The disease had taken a vibrant sixty-three year old and confined her to a wheelchair.  
“My Maribel she really do like the New York plays and such,” Skinny continued. “We knew when she was just a wee un that she’d be a star someday.”  
Verety nodded her head and smiled. She loved listening to Skinny’s stories about his daughter. She finished drawing the blood and placed the appropriate labels on the tubes, setting them on the stand on the table. Turning back to Skinny, she attached a band-aid to his arm. “You give my regards to Rosie, and say hello to Maribel for me. You’re going with us tomorrow, right?”  
“With Maribel here, I should be able to Miz Verety.”  
“Ok Skinny, I hope to see you then.”  
“Bye, Miz Verety.”


	2. Untitled

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful and passed rather quickly. Before Verety knew it, it was time to go home and get ready for work at the inn.  
Verety drove over the West 21st Street Bridge, glancing down at the small boats bobbing on the surface of Lake Erie. The lake was always beautiful this time of the year. She could see the white caps as the wake washed up on the shore and then traveled back towards the open water again. Off to the left, numerous piers were filled with fishermen; their nets close at hand.  
Up ahead, the road formed a lopsided “Y” as it merged with the East 28th Street traffic. Verety took 28th street up a small hill then under the railroad bridge where the conrail's took freight to Cleveland where they were ferried nationwide. Jayce’s bar and grill, a small brick affair, was on the right-hand corner as she passed Morris Avenue. On the other side of the street was Sam’s pool hall where her brother Miles and his friends hung out. One more winding curve, and Timberlake Lane beckoned her. She turned right and coasted three houses to her driveway.   
Verety’s rented house was a small one-story unit, no garage, with sky blue siding in front. Large pine trees grew on either side of the driveway and along the front of the house were rose bushes and some brand of climbing ivy, which was rooted, to a trellis which had been attached to the house from above. On the left side of the small sidewalk leading to the door, a small flowerbed had been tilled and was planted with numerous flowers and bushes.   
Verety exited the car and made her way up the broken concrete driveway, which was thick with weeds growing up through the cracks. She dug into her backpack and fished for her keys. The entryway greeted her as she opened the door. Beside it was a small table on which she set the keys. Lacquered wood floors ran end to end across the floor of the combined living and dining room. Years ago, the landlord had made an attempt to put a wall between the rooms but he had run out of money, so the job was never completed. A small corner boasted a 16” colored television and a recliner. On the far side of the cramped room was a small window. Beside it was a reading table filled with magazines and a beige easy chair.   
Verety walked through the living room to a small hallway, which breached where the wall ended. At the end of the picture decorated hall was a room on either side. A small bathroom was on the left and her bedroom on the right. She went into the bureau and started pulling out clothes and laying them on the bed. Her ensemble for the evening would be blue jeans and the green Waterford Inn tee shirt that all of the staff would wear. Showering quickly and dressing, she grabbed her keys off of the small table by the door and made a beeline for the car. Putting the Corolla into reverse she spun out of the driveway and cruised to the corner where she turned right onto East 28th Street. Not even a mile down the road and nestled on the corner of Pearl Avenue was the Waterford Inn. On nice days when she wasn’t in a hurry like today, she walked or rode her hybrid bike to the inn.   
The cracked sidewalks outside of The Waterford Inn were littered with acorns and small twigs from the giant oak trees hovering above. Rusty chain-linked fences ran the entire strip between the sidewalk and the road, pausing only for driveways and entrances to the businesses lining the street. The area boomed with activity and people could be seen bouncing from bar to bar.  
Verety thought back thirty years to when she had come here as a frightened teenager. Coming to America had been a pipe dream come true. Everything had been so quiet then, or so she thought. Now, as she looked around, she hardly knew this place. A small city in Ohio, Lorain had started to catch up to the bigger cities in the country, minus the hookers who didn’t flaunt themselves like they did in LA or Vegas. The signs were there though. “Money” had arrived, that much was apparent. The casinos had even nudged their way into the city via some weekend riverboats on Lake Erie. The Black Sabers and other gangs ran the streets recruiting youngsters, some just barely into Junior High School.  
As Verety pulled her car into a spot in back of the gravel lot, she reflected on the death last week of a twelve-year-old just around the corner. The boy had been coming home on the last day of school and was killed in a drive by shooting. Those were almost commonplace now and he was just an unfortunate victim.  
Verety hopped out of the car and walked to the side door of the inn. The wood was old, but it was solid. Back then, that’s how things were built…solid. Not like today, when even the cars weren’t built with metal, but fiberglass. A brass sign was to the left of the door. There was a matching one on the front door as well. The Waterford Inn, EST. 1975.   
The inn had been built by her father John Andrus, and her brother Miles, who was a carpenter. It was named The Waterford Inn to attract an Irish Clientele who would recognize the name from their homeland. The paint was peeling slightly above the door, but all in all, it was in pretty good shape. In all of her forty-six years, Verety had never been more proud than the day they opened the inn for the first time. Seeing the guests tentatively making their way to the lacquered tables and chairs and sitting down had just filled her with warmth. The clientele had been small then, but they were a loyal group.   
Everything was good, Verety thought as she made her way inside the inn.   
It was the wrong season for a fire, but the stones, which formed the fireplace, glistened in the glow of the brass-hewn lamps hanging from the ceiling. The stones were all different and had been handpicked by her father and brother from the rock quarry in Amherst. The lamps had been ordered from Ireland and had Celtic designs on the outer edges. The wood floors, which ran the length of the entire room, had been freshly mopped and had a glossy finish. Fifteen tables filled the center, main room, along with sturdy wooden chairs on each side. Small brass candleholders with white tapered candles were set in the middle of each table. Soft Irish music floated into the room via speakers set into the four walls. On the right side of the room, a small hallway led back to John Andrus’s living quarters and storage space. Straight ahead were swinging doors, which blocked the kitchen from view. In the center of the room, a staircase curved to the upper floor, which housed the two rooms, rented to overnight guests. The far corner of the room was by far the most populated. A small bar had been built and placed almost as an afterthought. It only had four stools, but there was always a standing room only crowd in attendance.   
Verety fought her way through the crowd to the bar, behind which a burly man with a gray crew cut was polishing a glass with a white towel in his hand. His eyes softened when he saw her.  
“Verety luv!”  
“Hey Sam, what’s new?”  
“Now lass, why have you been such a stranger? We never see ya unless it’s a packed weekend. Your pop has been cross without ya here to gentle him up.” Sam gave her a wink and placed the glass on the countertop. He filled it with ice and water and added a slice of lemon to it before sliding it across to her.  
Sam Adams had met her father when they worked together in The Lorain Shipyards loading freight onto the huge barges. When her father finally opened the inn, he was glad to retire and become the barkeep. He was from Ireland as well, coming to America as a young boy in the 1940’s. A bachelor all of his life, he had only started dating a few years back when he had met Charise Leonard on a slow night. She had been grading papers over a meal of Shepard’s pie and he was smitten immediately. They had been together for five years.  
Verety picked up the glass of water and squeezed the lemon into it. “Where’s pop at?”  
“He’s in the kitchen roaring like a wounded bear at the new help.”   
Verety smiled at the analogy. Her father demanded perfection of everyone, and had recently hired on a sixteen year old to help the cook with menial tasks which didn’t take much expertise, but that he wanted done right anyways.  
“Thanks Sam, see ya later,” she said as she headed towards the hall where the bathrooms were located. Once inside the ladies room, she shrugged off her backpack and opening the two-storied cupboard against the wall, pushed it inside of the top shelf. Verety exited and scanned the room. The usual crowd was there, along with a few faces she didn’t recognize. On a hook by the cash register, she grabbed the apron she had left there the last time she had worked. She tied it around her waist while walking towards the swinging kitchen doors. As she started to push the right hand door open, the left one opened from the other side and a breathless Frannie Vincent pushed through.   
“Verety, thank the gawds!” she huffed. “We are so busy girl. She scurried across the room, her long red hair blazing a trail behind her. The forty-five year old was Verety’s best friend and the full-time waitress. She had a great sense of humor, and always had a comeback or joke ready for any event. She came from Ireland, the same area where Sam Adams grew up. Frannie was married to Maury Vincent, a retired cop.   
Verety pushed the door open and entered the stream of activity in the back. Her father was standing next to a frazzled cook yelling that the bread bowls were cut too thin.  
“Whatcha thin you doin, stupid boy? The soups gonna spill all over da place. Now make em right.”   
The boy was red-faced and visibly shaken.  
“Pop!”   
Verety ran over to rescue the poor boy from her father’s wrath. She stood on tiptoe and killed him on the cheek.  
“Verey lass!”   
Her father dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand and folded her into an embrace. John Andrus was a very tall man. His curly red hair was salted with gray at the temples and matched his eyes.   
“Verey, a weeks too long for an old man to see his bairn.”  
“I’m sorry pop. So how’s the new boy working out?”  
“He’ll do, but I wish he weren’t so wet behind the ears. Don’t kids have common sense these days?”  
“Oh pop!” Verety lovingly tapped him on the arm. “You just need to lighten up and not be such a grouch bear.”  
His gray eyes twinkled and he smiled at his only daughter. “Aye then, I’ll try to not wake the neighbors with me yellin if you visit your poor fadder more often.”  
“Ok pop, I’ll try.”  
Verety smiled and hugged him one more time, pecking him on the cheek as she did so. “I’ve got to get to work and help Frannie.”  
“Go on then lass, keep them stuffed and happy.”  
Verety walked into the main room and watched the harried Frannie running from table to table. In all the years she had known her, she’d never seen Frannie walk slowly even when the crowds weren’t deep like tonight. The new girl, Sally, was just coming in, so between the three of them they should be able to handle the fifteen tables. Walking to her set of tables along a low brick wall, Verety dug her order pad and pen out of her apron pocket.  
“Hello Sally, Jan.” Verety nodded at the two middle-aged women sitting at the small wooden table tucked beneath a black iron-hanging lamp.  
Sally Mitchell, a slender blonde, worked at the law offices of Sammy Shapiro. Her official title was receptionist, but she pretty much did everything, including a lot of the legwork filing briefs at the courthouse.  
Verety didn’t know Jan Sealy very well. She lived in Cleveland; about twenty miles east and only came to the inn on occasion. She was a small woman with brown hair cut in a wedge style. She never went anywhere without a stylish business suit and tended to rub people the wrong way with her brash orders.  
“So, how are you ladies today?”  
Sally and Jan handed Verety their menus and placed their orders. “Hey Verety, you think you can sneak ours in ahead? I’ve got an important meeting with John Vincent back at the office and I need to eat and run.”  
“I’ll see what I can do.” Verety managed a tight smile and took the order towards the kitchen and placing it behind the others already sitting on the spinner. She really didn’t like Jan very much. She always expected preferential treatment because she worked for a huge law firm downtown that represented many of the professional athletes.  
Verety spotted her brother Miles sitting at a table with his buddies and waved. No doubt they were discussing their latest big catch out on Lake Erie. Miles worked for John Agnes Builders for the past fifteen years building condos by the lake. He lived on West 6th Street near the public library and had taken Verety’s sons Drake and Thomas along with him on occasion when they were younger. He had named his small boat the T&D Express after the boys.  
Drake Albert Drake Jr. was now 25 years old and an athlete like his father. He loved the outdoors and always had his nose in a book while leaning against a tree reading about the latest nature trail cut through a forest or something like that. He was still single and attended a forestry school in northern California. He lived in a small town called Eureka. There was only one other forestry school, which was located in Wisconsin, but he knew the better jobs would be out west, so that’s where he went.  
Thomas Jacob Burke was the exact opposite. He was never serious about anything and had always been into mischief in school. He had taken medication all of his life to calm him down to help him pay attention better, but it didn’t help much. He loved to go fishing in Lake Erie with his Uncle Miles on the boat and professed that it would be his career someday until he fell in love with computers. He was a computer geek now and had one more year to go for a computer science degree at the local community college. He had just gotten married eleven months ago and he and Julie were expecting their first child in the coming months.  
Verety took Sally and Jan their food, ignoring the snappish remarks about how long it had taken for the food to arrive.   
A little while later, she was taking another order to the kitchen and she heard loud laughter coming from the corner of the room. She looked over and saw that Sammy Shapiro and his friends had just arrived and plopped down into a table in Frannie’s area. Verety sighed and walked over to Frannie. “Do you want me to take that table for ya luv?” Sammy and Frannie used to date and Verety knew that her friend would feel uneasy serving him and his cronies.   
“No babe, its ok I’ll manage.” Frannie winked at Verety and breezed away to drop more orders at the kitchen window. Verety headed over to the bar to pick up a few drinks for her customers and saw Jan heading for the door. Sally was still eating the last of her desert; a slice of banana cheesecake, one of the Inn favorites.  
Frannie walked up a little while later and interrupted her thoughts.   
“I’m going to go outside and take a smoke break. Sammy wants to hash something out.”  
“Ok, I’ll hold your tables til you’re back. Its getting slow anyways.”  
“See ya in a bit luv.”  
Verety waved over at Sally who was heading out the door. Sally was saying something to Sammy and giving him a bill, which he threw on his table. Verety watched Sammy and Frannie head out the side door. Frannie had her purse slung over one arm and was digging for Marlboro’s and a lighter.  
Verety started wiping down some tables as the supper crowd started to exit the inn. Carla Carson, the other waitress, came over to help.   
“Hi Vewty, kin I hep you?” she asked.  
“Of course you can Carla, I’d be glad for the help.”  
Carla was a young girl of twenty-three from the west side of town. She had long black hair worn in a single braid down her back. Her parents had been abusive to her and finally when she had been beaten so badly that she had almost died, Children Services stepped in and removed her and four brothers living in the home. As a result of her injuries, Carla now had a speech impediment, was slow-minded, and limped badly on one leg. She had been in TJ’s class in school when the last beating had occurred and when John Andrus had heard about it, he had taken the girl under his wing. Her brothers, who were much younger, had been placed with relatives, but she came to live at the inn for a while until she could get on her feet enough to rent an apartment. She had been working at the inn for over five years now and most of the clientele adored her, and put up with her slowness.   
Carla and Verety had just finished wiping down the tables when Frannie burst through the side door visibly upset. She made a beeline for the bathroom, her right hand over her face. Verety followed as soon as she was able to clear her customers out and found Frannie in the bathroom in tears and reaching above the sink for a paper towel. She had put on a new shirt and there was a fresh scratch running down her arm. “Hey, what happened to your arm, it’s bleeding!”  
“That pervert tried to seduce me! Me being married to Maury mean nothing to that slime. He ripped my shirt and when I tried to push him away, my arm got scratched. It will be okay. Remember those pictures I told you about? The ones he took of me ‘n him, he said he’s going to put them on the Internet. Oh Verety, what am I to do? Maury will be appalled at those pictures. “  
“We’ll think of something Frannie. He can’t do that. He’s a lawyer, he’d lose his license.”   
“No he won’t he always finds some way of doing anything he wants. He got so angry with me when I wouldn’t go off with him. He left and said I’d regret not going back with him.”  
Frannie wiped her eyes and dipped the towel under the faucet for some cold water, which she pressed to her head.  
Verety looked at her friend. “Hon, it’ll be alright, you’ll see. Frannie looked down and rubbed the long red scratch that went down the forearm. By now, Frannie had herself under control and the two of them walked into the main room just in time to see Miles and his three buddies heading up the stairs. She surmised they were probably heading up to the office to play poker and hoped her father wouldn’t see him. John frowned on gambling to start with and didn’t like to have anyone upstairs when there were guests staying in the inn. Right now a couple from Indiana were staying for a few days.  
The rest of the evening passed without incident and finally after the “last call for alcohol” the crowd started to amble out of the bar and into the cool night air. The waitresses and busboys wiped down all of the tables and stacked the dishes into large bins. They took these to the kitchen where the crew was busy washing the dishes. John Andrus was supervising the work and making sure everything was spick and span. Once everything had been cleaned, Verety set to work collecting all of the garbage from the night. She composed it into five large garbage bags and her and Carla picked them up and hauled them out the back door. There was a small gravel drive, which led behind a low fence, which hid the two dumpsters illuminated by streetlights. She lifted open the right side of the blue dumpster so they could throw the bags inside, and as she did so, Carla let loose with a blood curdling scream. In the soft iridescent light, she could make out the lifeless body of one Sammy Shapiro, now deceased.


	3. Untitled

Verety sat inside the inn at a small table with two police officers and went over the story yet again. Officer number one was a squat, surly faced Latino with brown eyes and a beak shaped nose. His partner was a taller version with black wavy hair, a cleft chin and intense blue eyes. The Latino spoke again, as he had throughout the interview. He seemed to be the senior partner. “So, tell us again Mrs. Burke, did anyone leave the restaurant by the back door during your shift? Did you see anything suspicious? Someone who didn’t belong?”  
“I’m not really sure. It was so busy tonight; I didn’t really pay attention to who went out the door. Frannie went out earlier for a smoke, but that was out the side door.” Verety didn’t mention that Frannie had gone outside with Sammy and wasn’t sure why she didn’t say anything. They were sure to find out anyways, but surely Frannie didn’t do anything to Sammy. She had said he had gone home after all. Verety was getting frustrated by all of the repetitious questions. She’d been through the same questions at least three times and was tired of it. The officers seemed to sense they weren’t getting anywhere and both of them stood at the same time as if by some secret signal. Officer number two finally spoke. “Let us know if you remember anything else.” He handed her a small business card with shiny writing on the front. She glanced at it and tucked it into her apron. “Ok, I will.” The officers left and Verety was left to reflect on the evening.  
Soon after she and Carla had run back to the inn to report the murder, the police had arrived along with the crime scene investigators. Sammy had been shoved inside the dumpster head first, landing on his right side. He had been stabbed many times and would take an autopsy to determine the exact number and what kind of weapon had been used. The police had cordoned off the area and tried to locate the weapon, but none had been found. They would probably try again tomorrow when it was light outside. The police had finally given up on finding out anything else that night and everyone had packed up and gone home.   
Verety herself was wiped out. The shock of the evening still hadn’t sunk in and she was ready to go home. She said her goodbyes to everyone, hung up her apron and grabbed her backpack. She drove home and exhausted, tumbled into bed.  
The next day she woke up around nine feeling refreshed and sat at the table with a black coffee and the morning paper. Snyder, her brown and white lop eared beagle sat on her feet as he always did. The phone rang and Verety untangled herself from the dog to go answer it.  
“Hello?”  
“Verety, are you finally awake?” a high-pitched voice queried.  
Verety smiled into the receiver. “Hey Laurie, what’s up?”  
Laurie Meyers was an English teacher at the local high school. She had been Verety’s friend since grammar school when they had sat together in Mr. Hornish’s art class. They still got together as often as was possible with their busy schedules. Once in awhile they even took small trips together. Not long ago they had gone to Washington D.C. to visit the Vietnam Memorial for four days.   
“I heard something bad happened at the inn last night and wanted to hear about it. Is it really true that Sammy Shapiro is dead? That must have been so awful to find his body squashed in the dumpster like that. Is Carla ok?”  
Verety listened to her friend’s breathless perambulations and let her ramble on. When there was a break in her questioning she answered her. “It was awful. Carla is going to be ok, but since she was so freaked out pop had her stay at the inn last night with him so she wouldn’t be alone.”  
Verety filled her friend in on the rest of the evening’s happenings. “Hey, you wanna meet for lunch?” Laurie asked.  
“I can’t. It’s Saturday and I’m driving the old folks over to the bowling alley in a few hours. Then I have to work at the inn tonight.”  
“How bout if I meet you over there for an early supper, say around four? We could have some of your dad’s luscious Irish stew.”  
“Ok, that’s a date.”  
Verety hung up the phone, went to the table and chugged down her now cold coffee. She walked down the hall and showered and changed. After the shower she got Snyder’s bowl and dumped in a can of Alpo. Grabbing the keys off of the kitchen table, she headed for the door.  
The sun streamed in the windows of the red Corolla. Verety donned a pair of wraparound sunglasses and headed west on 28th street. Coming to the top of the hill where 28th intersected Broadway, she took a right-hand turn and headed north, towards the lake. She passed the post office and took a right at the next street. Ducking down a nameless driveway she drove for about ten feet and pulled into the LATA parking lot and found a place to park. It held about ten full-sized busses and some smaller ones, which held fourteen people each, and a couple of wheelchairs. Verety walked across the lot and opened up the metal door on the brick building straight ahead. Inside, two busses were being maintenanced by the mechanics that made sure all the busses had proper fluid levels and checked each bus out before it left for its next run. Verety headed to the screened in office at the far end of the garage and stopped at the window. A bored looking attendant slid a set of keys across to her with a number forty-seven written in black ink on the key tag. He set a paper on the counter, waited for her to sign it and placed it in a folder on his elevated desk.   
“Hey Verety, how goes?”  
Verety grabbed the keys, looked up at the clerk and smiled. “Hey Miles, its fine. Have a nice day.” She headed back out the door and to the left side of the fence that ran the perimeter of the property. She passed four full-sized busses before she arrived at number forty-seven. She unlocked the driver’s door, pulled it open and climbed up into the seat. Leaving the lot, she headed north on Broadway and drove until the road ended almost in Lake Erie and took a left turn on Lake road. She drove about a half mile down the road and turned into the Lake Shore Senior Citizens Center. The Center, as it was commonly referred to was a refurbished two-story colonial, which had been donated to the city. It wasn’t a nursing home per se, and had no permanent residents. Senior citizens gathered there to play cards, bingo, and whatever else was planned. The outings were a favorite of the group and they looked forward to seeing her every weekend.   
Verety pulled up to the double –glass doors in the front of the old building and put the bus in park. She pulled a lever to her right and the doors swung open so the people could board. She hopped out and walked to the side and started to operate the chair lift taking it down so that she could get the chair bound people into the bus as well. Today it was just Gloria Haley in the wheelchair line. She was the only one in a chair who went to the bowling alley. She had a secret crush on Clyde, so she went to watch him bowl.  
Verety had just gotten Gloria’s chair fastened to the floor of the bus when she saw Clyde Murphy’s lanky frame boarding the bus. He swung himself up the two steps and found a seat near a window towards the back. He was a light-skinned African American who was very energetic and always doing something that required motion. His best friend was Skinny Leonard whom he had grown up with. They had even done time in the youth home when they were younger. They had been busted for robbing a convenience store, but both had decided to stay outside of correction facilities after that and had gotten married to their childhood sweethearts. The two friends had always shared everything and it seemed their wives had commonalities as well, because they both had cancer. Clyde’s wife Sadie had succumbed the previous year and Skinny was right there to comfort his friend and to help him move on. Clyde was there to listen to Skinny when his wife Rosie was having a bad time of it. Verety occasionally passed Clyde at work when he was pushing the book cart down the hallways in the children’s ward. He volunteered there three days a week.  
“Harry, would you hurry up, you old tank?”  
Verety’s reverie was interrupted by some commotion on the bottom step of the bus. She saw a wooden cane come out of nowhere and hit Harry Gibson across the rear. The top of the cane caught the back of his suspenders and he boarded the bus with Biddie Crenshaw’s cane hanging from his pants.   
“HARRY!” She screeched, “Gimme my cane, you lard butt!” She hobbled up the steps clutching the railing and grabbing for the cane at the same time. She finally grasped the handle, but Harry had walked so far ahead that the elastic on his suspenders was three inches away when they snapped back.  
“OWCH!” Harry howled in pain. He turned and glared at Biddy while rubbing his back. Biddie was glaring right back at him. “Leave me alone you crab!” Harry clambered into the seat and scooted over so Biddy could sit beside him, which she did after rapping him on the knee with her cane and grumbling.   
Verety did her best to ignore the antics of Biddy and Harry. They were always snapping at each other, but were really the best of friends. They had been dating for neigh on forty years and never planned to marry. Biddies real name was Bernice but her friends had always called her Biddie. She was always gabbing about everyone and everything and it had gotten to the point where only Harry really listened to her. In reverse, she was the only one who could listen to his war stories over and over again about how it had been to be a foot soldier during the Second World War. He had fought with the _______ infantry division. Harry grabbed his pipe from the breast pocket of his checked shirt and tapped it on the arm of the seat.  
“Harry! You quit that, put that nasty thing away!”  
Harry shrugged and shoved the pipe back in his pocket and looked over at Biddy. His expression softened and his whole face broke into a slow grin as she stuck her tongue out at him. Leaning back in his seat he put his hand in hers and patted her arm.  
Verety glanced in the rearview mirror as other passengers boarded the bus. “Hey Biddie, how’s Jacob doing, “ she asked. Biddie met her eyes in the mirror and frowned. “That boy makes me so mad! The other day he went out and bought me a walker…a walker of all things … for ME! I was sooo angry I threw the darn thing outside. He might be blood and all, but I don’t need no stinkin’ walker. I’m still young and spry.”  
Harry groaned in the seat beside her. “Now now, Biddie he’s all you’ve got. He cares ‘bout you and just wants to keep you safe.”  
“Oh pshaw, mind your own beeswax, ya ol’ fart.” Biddie took her hand back and crossed her arms across her chest. She glowered, with a sullen expression on her face.  
Just before the bus doors closed, Skinny Leonard hopped aboard. He grinned at Verety. “Tole ya I’d make it Miz Verety.”  
“I’m so glad you could make it, Skinny.”  
“Ok folks, here we go,” shouted Shelly Crawford the chaperone.  
Verety pulled the bus out into the street, threaded her way back to Broadway and went south. The bus passed many small businesses and gas stations along the wide street. The huge Journal Buildings pressed into the street on the left as the long street wound over the Black River and into the west side of Lorain. Verety slid the bus over to the right and turned onto Oberlin Avenue. Immediately on the left side of the street was Reinhardt’s Bowling Alley. Verety pulled into the drop-off zone and set the parking brake. She pulled the doors open and watched as Shelly hopped out. Verety walked to the back and pushed Gloria’s chair over to the lift while Shelly operated it. They got her down and then the other passengers began to filter off of the bus. After they were all together, Verety smiled at them. “Have a great time! Don’t beat Shelly too bad.” To Shelly she added, “I’ll see you at two o’clock.” I’m going to run over to the library for a bit.   
“Ok, see you then.”   
Verety watched as Shelly led the group of eight inside while pushing the wheelchair. She hopped back into the bus and headed towards the Lorain Public Library.


	4. Untitled

Verety turned onto Broadway and traveled North for fifteen blocks, then took a left turn on West 6th Street. Six blocks up on the left side, the Lorain Public library was nestled in among tall oak trees on the corner of Reid Avenue. She parked the bus in the back of the building where there was a special lot for larger vehicles, hiked the sidewalk around the building to the front double doors and pushed her way inside.   
A large checkout counter curved around to the right ending at the wall. Just ahead, a carpeted staircase led upstairs to an extensive research area and genealogic history center. Beyond the staircase were stacks of adult books broken into sections. To the right of the staircase was an information desk with a line of people asking questions. Comfortable reading chairs were scattered about the library with tables in front of some of them. There was a study area off to the left with privacy desks and music equipment for listening to soft music in solitude. To the right of the checkout desk was an open play area with small desks and chairs for the children to read their favorite books. There were also half sized bookcases so they could reach their favorite one without assistance and a huge dinosaur with a comfortable bench inside of it. To the left side of the main door was a section devoted to audio and videotapes that customers could check out for a few days. Further to the left were the restrooms and a glass enclosed area.  
Verety headed to the glass enclosed area and pushed open the door. Inside were microfilm and microfiche machines. Along the far wall were current periodicals and newspapers set alongside of a few chairs. There were two desks by the entrance behind which, two pleasant faced volunteers sat and offered advice on how to operate the machines and collected money for the copy machine set in the corner of the room. Verety walked over to the newspapers, which hung on wooden dowels, grabbed the issue from that afternoon and sat down. She leafed through the paper and found what she was looking for. A small article buried under some business advertisements on page eight of the main section detailed the death on one Samuel Vincent Shapiro by “mysterious circumstances, which were still under investigation.” The article indicated that the obituary was on page D-5 of the community section and Verety flipped to it. She found a small notice near the bottom of the page announcing his death:  
Samuel V. Shapiro, a prominent attorney for Shapiro Enterprises died suddenly this morning. Burial arrangements are still incomplete. A sister Patricia Sanders of Phoenix, Arizona and a son, Samuel V. Shapiro, jr. of Richmond, Virginia, survive him. Preceding him in death were his parents Lazlo and Gina Shapiro, who died in a car accident in 1997.  
Verety picked up the newspaper and walked over to the copy machine. She lined the articles over the glass and made copies of each. She walked to one of the desks, showed the copies to the assistant and after digging in her backpack, handed her a dollar bill and pocketed the change. Exiting the room, she plopped the backpack down on the nearest table and pulled out a five-subject notebook. She opened it to the middle and slid the two copies inside. She tossed the notebook inside and shouldered her backpack. At the door, she walked through the security gate and bid the police officer posted at the door a good day. She walked back around the building to the bus.  
Verety stopped at the pub briefly on her way back to the bowling alley. There was a light crowd inside since it was after the lunch hour and Carla and the part-time girl Tanya were handling the tables themselves.  
“Where’s Frannie?” she asked Carla.  
“She say she sick ‘n isn’t cummin in today. Me ‘n Tanya’s okay. It’s a light day.”  
“Okay sweetie,” Verety said as she smiled at her. “I’ll call her later and make sure she’s okay.”  
Carla nodded as she started wiping down a table and went back to work.  
Verety walked over to the bar where Sam was pouring a drink for a customer. He placed a shot of bourbon in front of a heavy set gentleman with gray hair and picked up a few bills off of the bar. He rang up the bill on the old register her father refused to get replaced and grabbing a few quarters from the drawer put them back in front of the customer who dropped them in Sam’s tip jar. Sam nodded at him and started wiping down the counter.  
“Hey Sam, wanna get me the usual? I’ll be right back.”  
Verety tossed her backpack on a stool and went to the kitchen.  
“Hey pop,” Verety greeted her father. “Got any stew?”  
“You bet lass.” Her father gave her a one armed hug and walked over to a huge pot with hinged sides. He reached above the stove and pulled down a silver ladle, spooned her out some beef stew and placed it on a platter on the counter. “You need to fatten up dear one. You’re turning skinny on me.”  
“Oh, please.” Verety waved a hand at him. “I'm getting too hefty you mean, Pop, but so are you. Its all this great Irish food.” She playfully squeezed his middle, gave him a peck on the cheek and was gone with soup in hand.  
Verety arrived back at the bar and placed her bowl on the counter. She grabbed her backpack from the seat and placed it on the floor. She walked around to the back of the bar and leaned the platter against other ones already stored there. She returned to her seat, picked up a large soupspoon she had grabbed on the way back from the kitchen and began to eat.  
Sam, who was wiping down the counter, finished the task and threw the end of the towel over his left shoulder. Wiping his hands on the large white apron he wore, he walked over to Verety and leaned his elbows on the counter.  
“Heya lass, whadaya think of this Sammy mess? I never did like the guy but blimey, I’d never wish that kinda end on anyone not even him.”  
Verety nodded her head in ascent. “I know Sam, it’s awful. Who do you think did it?” She dipped her spoon in the stew and took a bite. Picking up her glass, she drank some ice tea to wash it down.   
Sam stopped rinsing a glass in the sink. He looked thoughtfully up at her and rubbed his grizzled chin. “Ya know, he had tons of enemies gal. ‘member a few years back when he pulled that stunt with those goons? I don’t rightly ‘member everything ‘bout it, but it was a big deal.”   
Verety swirled the tea in her glass and took a sip. “That was in Arizona, wasn’t it? Some sort of land deal?”  
Sam finished rinsing the glass and put it to dry on a rack over the right-hand sink. He snapped his fingers and drew a hand across his balding head. “Yeah! That’s it! He and his buddies were trying to develop some land out that way. The big bosses had devised some plan about convincin’ folks that they were getting fresh water in them houses. Then they found out that the scoundrels were just pumping the same water back through again. There wasn’t a water tower neigh to twenty miles from the development. Man what a mess that was.”   
Verety nodded. “I just don’t remember how it was that he didn’t get arrested.” She finished off her stew and pushed it across the counter.  
“Doncha remember lass? The police extradited him to that town; I forget the name of it now. He sang like a songbird to turn in the big bosses behind the whole scheme. They went to jail for numerous charges, Sammy saved his skin and even his law license. His friend got off too, but I forget his name as well. Right after all that junk was over was when Frannie got smart and left.”  
“Yeah, I remember that. Hey, I hear she called off today. I hope she’s okay.” Verety finished off her iced tea and looked at her watch. “Hey, I gotta scoot. Picking up the LATA folks at the bowling alley.”  
“Okay lass, we’ll see ya next time. It was nice chattin’ with you. Don’t be a stranger,” he said as he gave her a wink. Verety headed outside after saying goodbye to Carla and the other employees.


	5. Untitled

It was a beautiful summer day with the sun high in the sky. The beads of light danced off the branches of the trees and children screeched by on bicycles, their sounds of laughter carrying after them.   
Verety drove back to the bowling alley and parked under the carport. She walked around the bus and lowered the wheelchair lift to the ground. She then walked inside and found the others waiting on the top level overlooking the twenty-five lanes for bowling. There was an opening in the wall halfway down on the left, which led to the other side of the bowling alley, which was identical to this one. That side was used extensively for league bowlers while this one was more for the casual bowler.   
“Hey gang, how did it go?” Verety asked as she walked up and greeted them.  
“What a hoot!” cackled Biddy. “Harry bent over and split his drawers wide open.” Biddy slapped her knee, tears of laughter streaming down her face.  
Harry stood red-faced, both hands crossed behind him. “Shaddup woman, they’re my pants not my drawers. And you didn’t even bowl, you pushed the ball with your cane.”  
“I got a ninety-eight didn’t I? What did you get, ya old fool?”  
“You only got that cuz of the bumpers they put in the gutters,” he said.  
“Oh pshaw you’re just a fat old fart.”  
“Well, this old fart used to march for hours with all my gear on my back. That was the day lemme tell you. We were all hunkered down in those ditches waiting for the enemy to cross the line. We let em have it good, we did.”  
The others groaned. Sally interrupted his reverie and clapped her hands. “Ok gang, let’s get into the bus and head back to the center.” Everyone stood up and started their slow-gaited walk back towards the entrance. Verety went over to Gloria’s chair and started pushing her.   
“Verety I actually got to bowl this week!” she gushed. They had a thing that leaned against my chair and I could roll the ball down it. I had fun!” Verety smiled and patted her shoulder. “That’s great sweetie, I’m glad you had fun.”  
They all boarded the bus and took their seats inside. Verety put the bus in gear, and at Clyde’s request put the oldies station on the radio. She turned the dial to 105.7 and they listened as she drove them back to the center. They heard the announcement about Sammy Shapiro’s death on the radio when they were halfway there.   
“Why Miz Verty,” Clyde drawled. “You never peeped a word about that.”  
“I didn’t want to worry you folks about it.”  
“Wow,” said Harry, “that sure is something. Now, when we were fighting the ________ down in the battle of ________ we had a young feller that died mysterious like. We never did figger out who killed him.”  
“That’s cuz you weren’t as smart as Verety,” cut in Biddie. “She would be a good police woman officer. I bet she could find out who did it.”  
The others nodded in agreement egging her on.  
“No way,” Verety said laughing, her cheeks pink from embarrassment. “Police officers don’t make enough and some of them end up dead.”  
“Not as dead as Sammy,” cackled Biddie as she tapped her cane on Harry’s knee.  
“Hey, cut it out.” He glared at Biddie and pushed the cane aside.”  
The bus pulled into the _____________ Center and Verety parked under the carport and helped the folks exit the bus. She then saw them safely inside and drove back to the bus garage where she parked and went inside to return the keys.   
“Hey Verety,” the deskman said. “You’ve got three messages.”  
She thanked him as he handed her three small, pink slips of paper. They were all from Maury Vincent, asking her to call him right away. She walked around the corner by the bathrooms and picked up the receiver on the wall. She dialed a nine for an outside line and then dialed the number from memory.  
“Hello?”  
“Maury, its Verety.”  
“Hey, can you come over here please? I really need to talk to you and I’m watching Janie.”  
“Ok, sure, how’s Frannie feeling?”  
“There was a slight pause. “She’s uh, ok, just come over, ok?” The phone clicked dead in her hand.  
Verety, puzzled, hung up the receiver and walked thoughtfully out of the garage. She was confused. This was so un-Maury-like. He was usually so jovial and happy. Frannie’s husband had been a cop for fifteen years until a bullet had shattered his kneecap and his dream of being a detective. He had retired shortly afterwards when he determined that deskwork didn’t suit him.   
Verety glanced at her watch. Half past three. She’d have just enough time to talk to Maury before she met with Laurie Meyers at the inn for their early dinner.   
The Vincent’s lived on the left side of a shady street. They were in a duplex, which they shared with another couple. The siding on the home was a bland white, which had faded to a dusty yellow. In some places the siding had actually caved in against the house and was shattered. Large oak trees straddled the tarred driveway; acorns of all sizes littered the small patch of grass that made up the yard. Verety climbed the three steps to the porch, which both sides of the duplex shared.

Maury met her at the screen door. “I saw you drive up,” he stated. His chin quivered slightly and his voice broke. He leaned on a heavy walnut stained cane. Verety looked up at him concerned.  
“Maury, what’s wrong?”  
“They came and took my Frannie downtown. Bob Pierson and Jackie Franklin. They said that they wanted to talk to her about Sammy. She hasn’t had anything to do with that scum ball since we met.” Maury wrung his hands and then shoved them into his pockets.   
“What did they say Maury?” Verety reached over and squeezed his arm. In the background, she could hear the drone of the television. They walked into the small living room with faded green carpet and a glass coffee table sitting by a worn out couch. A matching stuffed chair sat to the left next to another glass topped table with a reading lamp on it. On the floor in front of the television, Janie, their three year old, played with her dolls and watched ‘Blue’s Clues’. When she spotted Verety enter the room, she jumped up, ran across the floor and hugged her legs. “Vewity! Lookie me dolly. Mummy got a new dwess for her.”  
“Hello sweetie, its very pretty,” Verety said as she bent over and hugged the small child and patted her blond head. Putting her hands under her arms, she lifted Janie up, gave her a squeeze and a peck on the cheek, and then returned her to the floor. Janie ran back to her spot in front of the floor once again enthralled with her favorite show. She started brushing her dolls hair oblivious to anything going on around her. Verety sat next to Maury on the couch as he recounted what happened.   
“Bob Pierson and Jackie Franklin came over to the house early that morning. They sat down with Frannie and me at the table. They said witnesses had told them that she had been seen arguing with Sammy outside earlier in the evening and that they needed to talk to her downtown. They asked her about the scratch on her arm too and she told them that Sammy had done it. That about did it for them. They hauled her off. As soon as they left, I called the Inn to tell them she was sick. I didn’t want anyone knowing that they think she killed Sammy. I couldn’t even go. I had to stay here with Janie.” Maury blew his nose into a large handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket and started twisting it in his hand. He picked the cane up from where it was leaning against the arm of the couch. “If only I didn’t have this darn bullet in my leg. Then I could do something.” A few years a fourteen-year-old boy robbing a liquor store on 14th street had shot Maury in the leg.   
“Maury, it will be ok, she’ll be cleared. We know she didn’t do it.” Verety reached over and patted his leg and stood up. “Why don’t I head over there and see what’s going on?”  
Maury got a thoughtful look on his face. “That would be great Verety, but just a minute.” He got up and limped over to a large bureau in the dining room and returned with a business-sized card. John Simone is a detective. He was one of my buddies when I worked at the department. I’ll tell him you’re coming over.”  
“Ok Maury. I’ll keep you posted.”


	6. Untitled

Verety borrowed The Vincent’s phone and called over to the inn to see if Laurie was there yet and to tell them that she’d be in late that evening. Sam put her on the line.  
“Hey Verety, don’t tell me you’re backing out.”  
“I’m sorry sweetie, but something has come up. Frannie’s been taken downtown for some questions and I’m going to see if I can give her some moral support. Can we meet tomorrow? We could do lunch.”  
“I can’t. I’m heading to that sales convention in Boston. I fly out early tomorrow morning and won’t be back until Friday. Hey drop me an email and let me know what happened, ok? That Frannie is such a sweetie. I hope nothing bad happens to her.”  
“So do I.” Verety assured her friend that she would say hello to her and hung up the phone. Turning back to Maury, she looked at the card he had handed her and shoved it in the front pocket of her khaki pants. She gave Janie a quick hug and went out the door.   
Verety hopped into the Corolla and drove out onto Broadway heading north. The Lorain Police station was only a few blocks away in the Administration Building on the corner of Broadway and Lake road. Lake Road was a long east-west strip that ran alongside of Lake Erie. It eventually ended in Cleveland to the East after traveling through Sheffield Lake, Avon Lake and Avon where a lot of the professional athletes lived in prosperous homes along the lake. Verety had taken Lake road many times, but going west where it went through the small fishing town of Vermilion where a few of her close friends lived. The city was just a small speck on the map. Huron, the next town westward, boomed with summer tourists who stayed in cottages along the lakeshore. The most populated city by far in the area and about 35 miles west of Lorain was Sandusky, which sported the largest amusement park in the United States. Verety had been to “the point” as the locals referred it to, many times as a teen. Now, however, she didn’t have as much time on her hands to go and the prices had tripled over the past 25 years as the park had expanded bringing in a new roller coaster every few years. She did drive the LATA there on occasion, but only after six pm when the prices dropped drastically.   
Verety pulled into the steep driveway on Lake Road, which led down into the administration-building parking lot. The administration building housed many of the city offices including the police station. The lake was very visible from here, and the bright red ball of the sun was just dipping over the horizon. The picturesque site of Lake Erie at sunset always took Verety’s breath away. When she was a young girl, her father had taken she and her brother to Lakeview Park, which was west about ten minutes of where she stood now. The watched the sunset while they all walked hand in hand along the beach, sometimes stopping to wrestle in the sand.  
Verety looked over at a small sailboat waiting in a line of boats near the boat ramp. Its sails were tightly tied to the mast, which had been brought down for the journey home. Trucks and cars hauling trailers backed into the water by the ramp. The trailers had rollers on them, which allowed the boat to be coaxed onto it, and tied down. The driver then got behind the wheel of their vehicle and drove the boat out and the next person would take his place. Just to the right of the public boat ramp was a dock the police used. In between these a long table had been set up where a worker was checking catches to make sure no one went over the daily quota and to check fishing licenses if needed to certify a state qualifying catch. There were fish scales on the table and a measuring device as well.  
Verety parked her Corolla behind two rows of police cruisers by the fence, which surrounded the lot. Just to the right and up the hill she had driven down, was the city courthouse, which handled city trials of small risk. Most of the big murder cases and drug dealers went to the Lorain County Courthouse on 4th Street in Elyria, a city just southeast of Lorain.  
Verity trudged into the massive building. Inside, there was a caged window with double paned glass on each side of it. She saw a black phone to the right of the window with a sign, which urged those wishing to speak to the dispatcher to pick it up. Verety picked up the phone and spoke to an unseen being on the other side somewhere. After stating her business, the door buzzed and she was able to push it open. The interior hallway was tiled with two tone colors. They had been buffed recently and shone brightly. The walls were of your basic wood panel variety, it too shining brightly to where it met a baseboard, which divided it from plain white wall below. A police receptionist greeted her at the door and led her into a small waiting area about fifteen feet down the hall. She sat down in a padded black leather seat and leafed through some out of date brochures commanding people not to drink and drive. Other than her, the room was empty. About fifteen minutes passed, and then a tall man in a gray suit with salt and pepper hair walked up and extended his hand.  
“Hello Ma’m, I’m detective Jacob Martz. Mr. Vincent said you would be stopping by. Why don’t you come with me and we will go to my office.” He nodded his head down the hall beckoning her. Verety stood and followed him down the long hallway. Pictures of whom she assumed to be current police officers lined the walls in thick wooden frames. Besides one opening in the wall was a large photo picturing all of the dispatchers in one photo. Further on and underneath three crosses attached to the wall was a single photo of an officer killed in the line of duty. Verety followed the detective around the corner where the tile floor abruptly ended and instead the way was covered with a rust-colored carpeting, which almost matched the wood-paneled walls, which traveled floor to ceiling. On these were photos of the executive officers including the chief of police and his task force of detectives and other subordinates. Three doors down on the left side, the detective opened the door for her and they walked inside. The room was a two-desk affair, but was spacious enough to accommodate each comfortably, with a privacy screen of office partitions in between each one. A long bay window looked out into the lake. Diplomas and awards were hung on the well cared for walls above each detectives desk. The carpet was a deep forest green and was so soft that Verety was tempted to kick off her sandals and let her feet sink into its depths. The desks were your basic L-shape with a filing drawer underneath on the right side and drawers on the left. Beside each desk was a taller fall drawer filing system to store all of their cases. Each drawer had a label carefully affixed to the front, which told the detective what it contained. A coat tree with a few lightweight jackets and a hat were set off to one side. Papers were stacked neatly on Detective Martz’s desk and there seemed to be more in the out box than the in. The detective pointed to a small red cloth chair on the other side of his desk and sat down in a larger black executive styled one. He leaned back, the chair creaking slightly and laced his slender fingers behind his head. He then leaned forward on his elbows and looked at her.   
At thirty-eight, Jacob Martz was the second youngest detective in the department, and had only received the promotion four months earlier. This was his first real big case and he was eager to do a good job. Jacob had always wanted to be a cop. All of his life he had watched his father put on his uniform and strap on his police belt as his grandfather had done before him. He just knew when he got older, he would too. He was 6’5 and wore his hair, which was black flecked with gray, feathered neatly off of his forehead, which was usually creased from concentrating. He added just a touch of gel to keep it looking perfect. His nails were neatly manicured and filed and he always wore his tie at work even when others took theirs off. His fingers tapped on his desk nervously as he looked at the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen in his life.   
Verety looked at the tall man sitting before her and waited for him to start the conversation that was to come.   
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but we’re very short staffed at the moment. The failed levy has resulted in a few cutbacks in office staffing, so I was working the copy machine for awhile on some files I needed.”  
“That’s ok.”  
Detective Martz reached over to his right where a few slim folders were stacked. Pulling it in front of him, he flipped open the file in front of him and peered at the contents. He picked up a pen from the blotter in front of him and looked up at her.  
“I’ve got your statement here from the other night. Do you mind if we go over it again? I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask you.”  
“Sure, no problem, I’d like to help. Fire away.”  
“We have several witnesses who stated that they had seen Mr. Francis Vincent leave the inn with Mr. Shapiro, the victim, but your statement doesn’t mention that. Could you tell me why?”  
Verety looked up at the detective. He was all business now and the pleasant smile on his face had disappeared. His blue eyes were intently looking at her, challenging her. She could understand why he had made this his career. He was very good at it. His slim fingers toyed with the pen in his hand as he awaited her response.  
“It must have slipped my mind with all of the commotion going on,” was her feeble response.  
“Did you see anyone else leave the inn around that time?”  
“Well, there were other customers going out the front door, but I don’t remember exactly who, it was at the end of the rush, and I was helping the others clean off the tables.”  
The detective had taken out a large yellow pad of paper and was making notes on it. “So, Mrs. Vincent is the only person you actually saw go out the side door, and she was in the company of Mr. Shapiro, the victim.”  
“Yes.” Verety inwardly groaned. This was not going well at all. She felt like she was on trial here and that she was betraying the friendship she had with Frannie. It only got worse as the meeting progressed.  
Detective Martz looked at her for a few moments as if to read her thoughts. Verety shifted in the padded chair, which had suddenly become very uncomfortable.  
“How did Mrs. Vincent appear when she came back into the inn? Was she her usual self, or did she seem agitated?”  
“Well, she seemed to be visibly upset and ran to the bathroom.”  
“Did you follow her to see what was wrong?”  
“I couldn’t right away. I had some customers at the moment, but I did as soon as I could.”  
Detective Martz lifted the top page over the notebook so he could write on a fresh sheet of paper. “When you were able to free yourself from the customers and go to her, how was she?”  
“Frannie was wearing a fresh shirt when I got in there. Earlier she had spilled a drink on herself, and the stain was gone. She said that she and Sammy had gotten into it. He had tried to kiss her, and when she pushed him away, he reached back and managed to tear her shirt. He had scratched her arm too and it was bleeding. Frannie was really upset and she was crying.”  
The detective looked up at her, a stoic expression on his face. “Did you see the shirt she took off, the one she said was torn?  
“No, I never saw it. She had already stuffed it into her backpack and put it in the locker.”  
More questioning followed, and not until another hour had passed did the detective wrap things up. Detective Martz picked up all the papers and the small file and nodded at the door. “I’m going to have this statement typed up and I’ll need for you to sign it.”  
“OK”  
Verety sat at his desk and pondered all that had taken place. This was not going to abode well with Frannie, for her defense. For the first time since her friend had been brought here, Verety was seriously thinking that her friend just might need a lawyer. She made a mental note to approach Maury about that later.   
Twenty minutes passed, and finally the detective returned. He sat down at the desk, handed it to her and had her read it to make sure it was exactly as she had stated. “If that looks correct, I’ll need you to sign it.”   
Verety signed the paper on the bottom where a line had been drawn for her signature and then handed it to the detective along with a pen had given her. “Well, that about wraps things up,” he said leaning back in his chair.   
“Not quite.” Verety glanced at her watch. “I’d like to see Frannie for a little while, please. That’s the main reason I came down here, to see her,” she stammered.  
The detective leaned forward on his elbows and looked her straight in the eye. “That is impossible at the present time. While I was out getting this statement typed, I swung over there and she is still in the interview room. She cannot be disturbed while they are talking with her. Thank you for stopping by. Please allow me to walk you to the door.” The detective extended a hand to her and guided her from the chair she was sitting in. At the security door he bid her farewell. “Thank you for stopping by Mrs. Burke, I’ll call you if I have any further questions for you.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed her what she presumed to be a business card. “Please call if you have any further information.”   
Verety left through the same door she had entered by and went down the wide hallway, which led back outside. A breeze had picked up and the sky had become overcast. A long train of dark clouds seemed to follow her to the Corolla.


	7. Untitled

On the ride home, she went back over everything, which had transpired over the past two hours. Maury was not going to be happy when he heard about the interview. She dreaded calling him, but decided that she would after she arrived home. Heck, it was going to be past eight by the time she got to work. Hopefully, the girls had handled the rush okay. Verety arrived home and hurriedly got ready for work. She called her father and also spoke briefly to Sam about the goings on at the police station and that she would be on her way in about ten minutes. She then called Maury who was very disappointed that his detective friend had been of no help. He said that Frannie was still not home and told her that numerous phone calls to the station had resulted in nothing but frustration for him. He told her he would keep her posted and call at the inn if anything new developed that evening.   
Verety went into work, but she was on autopilot the whole evening. Her thoughts were on Frannie and what she must be going through. Many of the bar patrons were having discussions about the subject and consoling Sam who was distraught that his friend was still at the station house. Verety had not arrived for work until almost nine and by that time the dinner crowd was long gone. Most of her evening consisted of running drinks to the tables and just trying to get through the night.  
After work, she drove home and went inside. Snyder met her at the door. Verety squatted down and greeted the dog with a pat on the head.   
“Hey baby, how ya doin’?”   
The boxer slurped her chin in response. She rubbed his ears, and standing back up walked into the kitchen to fix him a bowl of food. She refilled the water dish and then after he had done his business outside, she gratefully climbed underneath the covers of her queen-sized bed. It seemed like she had just laid down her head and the next instant the sunlight was streaming through the windows. She had forgotten to close the Venetian blinds when she had gone to bed. Verety glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 9:45. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and rubbed her eyes. Snyder was still snoring gently from his bed on the floor. She had only had him for a few months and he already weighted in at fourteen pounds. Her father always worried about her living by herself and had been delighted when she had brought home the dog from the Animal Protective League. He and his four siblings had been abandoned in a junkyard and it had caught her attention on the news. She had fallen in love with him immediately and the rest was history. Verety rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. She had really needed this uninterrupted sleep. Sunday was always her favorite day of the week. After church, she would have the whole day to just goof off. She got up, showered and got dressed. She poured out a bowl of Rice Krispies for herself and Pedigree dog food for Snyder. Verety walked over to the front door, grabbed the newspaper and sat down to eat. There wasn’t anything in the paper about Sammy Shapiro, so she turned to the Sports page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer, which was delivered, to her door on the weekends. The Cleveland Indians had lost another one in the late innings. She made a face and in disgust tossed the paper to the side. She rinsed the dishes in the sink, and remembering she had been too exhausted the night before to check her messages, pushed the button on the answering machine located on the kitchen counter. There was only one message made at about two am when she was just getting off work. The message was from Maury who asked that she call as soon as possible.   
Verety picked up the phone and dialed Maury at home. He sounded very worried and his voice cracked when he answered.   
“Maury, what’s the matter?”   
There was a significant pause on the other end of the line as he gathered his thoughts. “They held Frannie at the station all night. I know they can hold her for twenty-four hours, but Christ, I used to be a cop with those guys! This is Frannie. She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”  
Verety nodded her head as though Maury could see her and waited for more.  
“Then, about an hour ago, they all show up. Plainclothes men and officers. They’re really nice and all, probably cuz I used to work with half of em and trained in a couple of those guys as rookies. They handed me a paper, and I knew it was a warrant without even opening it. They swarm all over the house and leave with Frannie’s backpack and some of her clothes.”  
Verety sighed. “That’s my fault. I told the detective that she had changed her shirt. They probably want to test everything for evidence. If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, she’d be home already.”  
“It was my brilliant idea that you go down there in the first place. I think I’m going to start looking for a lawyer.”  
They talked for a few more minutes, Maury promising to keep in touch and letting Verety know when he heard from Frannie. Verety called her father at the inn and let him know what was happening. She told him that Frannie would not be in that afternoon and offered to come in to help. Her father waved it off saying he could handle it.   
“No sense ya doin’ that luv. We’ll manage, always do. How’re those grandkids of mine?”  
“I haven’t heard from Drake, but you know how he is. He isn’t much for writing emails although I sent him off to California with that laptop we got him for Christmas last year. I was going to give him a ring tonight and see how school is going. TJ called last Wednesday and said he had plans to go fishing with Miles tomorrow. Julie is going to come over and sit with me for awhile.”  
Julie and TJ had been married for eleven months, and Julie was finally in her final month of pregnancy. TJ had become more and more protective, refusing to leave the house or anything. He had put in for two weeks of vacation from work and Julie had gotten so tired of him underfoot, she had finally called Miles up pleading with him to take her husband out of the house for a day of peace. Verety had giggled when she had heard her daughter-in-law relay the story of how it had almost taken vice grips to get him agree to go fishing, which he loved to do. In desperation, she had told TJ he would visit with Verety for a while and he had finally relented.   
“You know how worried he is about being a daddy,” Verety continued with her father. “Actually not that part, but anyways, he won’t let her out of his site. He’s treating her like a glass doll and she’s tired of it.”  
John Andrus let out a bellow of laughter over the phone. “You tell those two to come over to the inn for a meal, so I can fatten him up.”  
“Its something pop, watching TJ gets so worked up over this. I hope the baby comes soon so we can get his feet back on the ground.”  
Verety could well imagine her father’s gray eyes twinkling at the idea of TJ being so uptight. Her son had been all motion his whole life and to see him like this was amusing to say the least. She wasn’t upset that he wasn’t working right now, though. TJ worked at the steel mill on 28th Street. She didn’t like him working there, not even a little bit. He worked in what was referred to the workers as the BOP shop. It was where the hot molten steel was poured into huge ladles and then moved to other parts of the mill where it was formed into huge coils and bars. She always visualized one of those big pots pouring over her son and hated that he worked there. His dream had always been to open a fishing shop and she hoped that he never gave up on it and would quit the mill as soon as he had enough in savings to do it.  
Verety wrapped up the phone conversation with her father and after hanging up, decided to take Snyder for a stroll. An hour later, she was back home, the dogs skin lathered to a healthy sheen. She rubbed his head and then walked into a small alcove off of the kitchen. It was here that her computer sat on a small desk. She sat down on a padded seat in front of it and powered it up. She had put up writing to Laurie for long enough.  
Dear Laurie,  
So, how’s Boston? I bet it’s fascinating! Do they still have the horse drawn carriages that take you for rides down the cobblestone streets? I would love to hear the hooves clopping off of the red bricks. Let me know if you try it!  
Everything here has gone to hell. I think Frannie is about to be charged with killing Sammy. I feel really guilty, because Maury convinced me to talk to a detective down town to see what was going on with her while he watched Janie. So I went and talk to this Detective Martz who is really cute btw. But he’s also really mean. Anyways, he ended up taking another statement from me. Some of the things I said are pretty damning if I didn’t know Frannie. You and I both know that Frannie couldn’t have done it. Oh yeah, Maury said the police showed up with a search warrant and took Frannie’s backpack and some of her clothes downtown. This is just awful. Well, I’m going to sign off for now. I’ll be waiting for your reply. When are you coming home again?  
Verety


End file.
